Category Archives: writing dialogue

Dialogue That Kills It: Crafting Conversations Full of Suspense

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By Jennifer Graeser Dornbush

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Hello all!  Before you dive into this blog I want to thank the Killzone for inviting me into the fold as a blogger. After such a warm reception last month, I am so honored and excited to be here and to get to know you all. Thanks for welcoming me!

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Dialogue is where intention and motivation live.

Not in the gunshot.
Not in the dark alley.
Not even in the twist you’ve been saving for three chapters.

Suspense begins long before violence arrives — often in the quiet exchange of words between two people who desperately want to say what they mean, but don’t. Or can’t. Or shouldn’t.

In real life, we rarely say what we mean — especially when the stakes involve guilt, fear, shame, death, or discovery. We hesitate. We deflect. We contradict ourselves. We say nothing at all.

Your characters should do the same.

In suspense fiction, dialogue is where motive leaks, where truth fractures, and where readers begin to feel that something is very wrong — even before they understand why.

Let’s look at how dialogue works as a weapon, using examples from three of my novels, What Darkness Does and Frozen Lives and Last One Alive.

Dialogue as Combat — Not Conversation

New writers often treat dialogue as functional: delivering information, explaining a plot point, moving the story along.

But in suspense fiction, dialogue should never be neutral.

Every conversation is a contest.

In What Darkness Does, Emily Hartford’s conversations are rarely about what they appear to be on the surface. Early in the novel, when Nick reappears after being presumed dead, their exchanges sound restrained — almost polite — but the real conflict is boiling underneath.

“You don’t have to be here,” Nick said.

Emily crossed her arms. “You showed up. That doesn’t mean you get to stay.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t have it to give.”

Nick wants permission.
Emily wants accountability.

No one explains the past.
No one names the trauma.

That emotional collision — not exposition — is where the tension lives.

The rule:
Two people enter the scene wanting different things.

Information.
Truth.
A lie.
Protection.
Dominance.
Approval.
Escape.

The dialogue isn’t about saying those wants out loud — it’s about defending them, disguising them, or attacking the other person’s position.

If no one is fighting for something in the exchange, the scene goes flat.

Subtext: The Engine of Suspense

The most dangerous dialogue isn’t what’s spoken.

It’s what’s avoided.

Subtext is the truth beneath the line — the thing the character cannot afford to say.

In Frozen Lives, one of the most chilling conversations involves a mother, Jo, carefully choosing her words in front of the man who has kidnapped them. On the surface, the exchange is domestic and calm, but underneath Jo needs her son’s obedience so they can survive.

“Sit down, Jeremiah,” she said evenly.

“I’m fine.”

She smiled. “I know. But I need you where I can see you.”

He hesitated — then sat.

Nothing overtly threatening is said.
No violence is named.

But control is absolute.

The smile contradicts the command.
The hesitation exposes fear.
Compliance seals the power dynamic.

That’s subtext.

In real forensic interviews, suspects rarely communicate cleanly. They answer the wrong question. They stall. They rush. They talk too much — or not enough. That same behavior should appear on the page.

To write strong subtext, ask yourself:

What would destroy this character if spoken aloud?
What truth are they circling but refusing to touch?
What are they protecting — themselves, someone else, or a secret?

Subtext isn’t cleverness.
Subtext is survival.

Power Struggles: Who Controls the Conversation?

Every suspenseful conversation is a negotiation of power.

Who’s leading?
Who’s resisting?
Who’s withholding?
Who’s pretending everything is normal?

In Frozen Lives, power shifts constantly in conversations between Emily Hartford and law enforcement. The badge carries authority — but Emily counters with medical expertise and evidence.

“You’re speculating,” he said.

Emily didn’t raise her voice. “I’m interpreting evidence.”

“That’s not your call.”

“It is when the body contradicts your theory.”

No raised voices.
No melodrama.

Just control — line by line.

Elsewhere in the novel, a predator maintains dominance not by yelling, but by setting rules, assigning seats, and speaking calmly while making consequences clear. The dialogue is polite. Controlled. Domestic.

That contrast — civility layered over threat — creates unbearable tension.

Common power moves in dialogue include:

• refusing to answer
• changing the subject
• overexplaining
• clipped replies
• strategic silence
• redirecting blame
• making someone else emotionally responsible

Dialogue becomes a tug-of-war — and the reader feels every pull.

Silence as a Blade

One of the most underused tools in dialogue is silence.

A pause.
A refusal to answer.
A single sentence — followed by nothing.

In What Darkness Does, I built an emotionally devastating moment by having characters reveal inner feelings with reactions, not words.

“We found her,” Emily said.

He stared at her.

“She didn’t suffer.”

He nodded once.

And said nothing.

Silence forces the reader to lean in.
It gives weight to what can’t be explained, justified, or undone.

Use silence at moments of revelation, moral conflict, or emotional rupture. Sometimes the most honest response is no response at all.

Let Characters Talk Like Humans — Not Narrators

If your dialogue feels too neat, too helpful, or too polished, you’re probably writing in author-voice.

Real people under stress:

ramble
contradict themselves
misremember
avoid specifics
go off on irrelevant tangents
blurt details accidentally
freeze

In Frozen Lives, locals give conflicting accounts — not because they’re lying outright, but because trauma, loyalty, and fear shape how they remember events.

“I mean, maybe it was him. Or someone like him. I didn’t really see his face — it was dark. But I felt like I knew him.”

Emily waited.

“You know how it is around here,” he added quickly.

The vagueness is the clue.
The emotional justification gives him away.

Let people be messy.
Let them be evasive.
Let them sound human.

Dialogue That Answers — Then Unsettles

Great suspense dialogue gives answers — and then disputes them.

In What Darkness Does, witnesses describe the same person in incompatible ways.

“He was polite,” one woman said.

“He scared the hell out of me,” another insisted.

“No,” a third said quietly. “He wanted us calm.”

Each account feels sincere.
Each is incomplete.

The truth becomes scattered across perspectives, forcing the reader to assemble meaning from contradiction.

When dialogue ends, the reader should feel less certain — not more.

Dialogue as Psychological Fingerprinting

Every character has a linguistic signature:

  • vocabulary
  • rhythm
  • emotional control
  • education
  • trauma response

Emily Hartford speaks with clinical precision — even when emotionally compromised. Grieving families speak in fragments. Rural characters protect themselves with understatement. Antagonists shift tone depending on who they’re speaking to — a tell in itself.

When Emily delivers information connected to a death investigation, her language tightens instinctively:

“We found her,” Emily said.

He stared at her.

“She didn’t suffer.”

He nodded once.

And said nothing.

There’s no elaboration.
 No emotional framing.
 No softening.

In other investigative moments, Emily’s speech remains just as contained — precise, bounded by what can be proven:

“There are no defensive wounds.”

“The injuries occurred around the time of death.”

“Cause of death is consistent with blunt force trauma.”

She names facts.
 She separates what happened from how it’s interpreted.
 She anchors herself to evidence.

Contrast that with the people receiving the truth:

“She didn’t—”

“Are you saying she was alone?”

“I just want to understand.”

Their dialogue fractures. Emily’s does not.

That contrast is the fingerprint.

People reveal themselves through how they speak — especially when they’re trying not to.

Put Characters Under Pressure — Then Make Them Talk

Dialogue is deadliest when someone is cornered.

Under pressure, people:

●      lash out

●      repeat themselves

●      say too much

●      say nothing

●      let something slip they meant to bury

In Frozen Lives, as the truth surrounding the crime rises toward the surface, conversations sharpen. Politeness erodes. Even small lines carry threat because the cost of speaking wrong is so high.

In Last One Alive, pressure surfaces most clearly in intimate conversations — especially between Solange and her husband — where the stakes are personal long before they’re criminal.

When Solange pushes for answers, the dialogue doesn’t open up. It closes ranks.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because you didn’t answer the question.”

Deflection comes first.

Later, when the pressure tightens:

“I told you what happened.”

“You told me something,” she said. “Not everything.”

And when evasion no longer works, honesty arrives stripped of comfort:

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

No confession.
 No tidy explanation.
 Just resistance, reframing, and control.

The characters aren’t fighting over facts — they’re fighting over who gets to define reality. Under pressure, dialogue turns strategic. Words become shields. Or weapons.

If you want dialogue that kills, trap your character — then force the conversation.

Investigate Your Dialogue Like a Detective

Before finalizing a scene, ask:

Who held power?
Who gained information?
Who lost control?
Where did the truth leak?
Where did the lie begin?
What emotion slipped through?
What was avoided?
Who walked away winning?

If you can’t answer those questions, the dialogue needs another pass.

Your Deadly Dialogue Checklist

✔️ Do characters want different things?
 ✔️ Is subtext doing the heavy lifting?
 ✔️ Does power shift?
 ✔️ Is silence used deliberately?
 ✔️ Does the dialogue reveal psychology?
 ✔️ Does someone lie or tell a half-truth?
 ✔️ Does it feel messy and human?
 ✔️ Does it raise more questions than it answers?
 ✔️ Does it leave the reader unsettled?

If yes — your dialogue is alive, dangerous, and driving the story forward.

Dialogue is where tension lives.
 People lie.
 People protect themselves.
 People hide their wounds.
 People weaponize their words.

Let your characters spar — through what they say, what they don’t, and what they’re terrified will be discovered.

Jennifer Dornbush is an author, screenwriter, and forensic specialist who brings crime stories to life with authenticity and heart. With a background rooted in real-world forensics and a passion for crafting unforgettable mysteries, Jennifer offers readers and viewers a front-row seat to the intersection of science, justice, and human nature. Jennifer’s crime expertise has made her a sought-after speaker, consultant, and educator. Through her webinars and master courses, Jennifer guideswriters in melding suspenseful storytelling with forensic realism to the screen and page. Meet her at www.jenniferdornbush.com

Dialogue Words of Wisdom

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Along with narrative, dialogue is the lifeblood of fiction, and today’s Words of Wisdom presents advice on this crucial subject. First, Elaine Viets offers tips on writing realistic dialogue. Then, Joddie Renner gives advice on dialogue tags. Finally, James Scott Bell presents a terrific “random dialogue exercise” to take our dialogue in unexpected directions. The original posts are date-linked from their respective excerpts. Afterwards, I’ll have a few questions as additional fodder for today’s discussion.

(1) Listen to How People Talk

Go to a bar, restaurant or a coffee shop or a McDonald’s and listen to conversations. I love to eavesdrop on conversations. They help me pick up the rhythm of real speech – and sometimes I hear things I can use. Like the man at the bar who talked to his friend about how to kill his wife. They discussed various fatal scenarios until he finally concluded that he should “accidently” push her radio off the shelf into water when she was in the tub. I was about to call the police when I realized the two men were plotting a novel.

(2) Don’t be too realistic

People say “uh,” and “er” and rarely speak perfectly. They interrupt one another. You need to make your dialogue believable without making it absolutely realistic.

(3) Beware of stereotypes and accents

If your character speaks with an accent, point it out for a sentence or two: He spoke with a heavy Russian accent – but don’t make your readers wade through it for pages.

(4) Cut the small talk

You don’t need all those hellos and good-byes. Normally, they add nothing to the story. If your scene starts with a wife coming home from work and it begins this way:

“Hi,” she said.

“How are you?” he asked. “How was your day?”

Skip the hellos and start with “How was your day?” And let us know if the couple kiss. That could be a key to their marriage.

(5) Break up the dialogue with action

If two characters are talking over breakfast, have them pour syrup on their pancakes, sugar their coffee and cut up their bacon between sentences.

(6) Avoid dialogue tags

She sputtered. He chortled. She raged. He observed. She exclaimed. He interjected. She purred. These are all dialogue tags. Now forget them.

Dialogue tags attribute a line of dialogue to one or other of the characters, so that the reader always knows who is speaking. Tags should be invisible.

All you need are “he said” and “she asked.”

(7) Avoid the “You know, Jim,” syndrome

That’s an information dump disguised as regular dialogue: “You know, Jim, if you want a tax break, equipment that qualifies for the Residential Renewable Energy Tax Credit includes solar, wind, geothermal and fuel-cell technology.” Nobody talks like that in casual conversation – not even a salesperson.

Elaine Viets—March 11, 2019

 

1. Avoid overusing dialogue tags. Instead of constantly using he said or she said (or the name and said), replace them often with action beats, which will also help bring the scene alive:

He closed the door very quietly. Too late.

She stood there, hands on hips. “Where’ve you been?”

“Don’t start.” He took off his coat and hung it up.

The action immediately before or after the words tells us who’s talking.

Or, if it can be done without confusing the readers, just leave out the dialogue tag or action beat. Context often makes it obvious who’s speaking.

2. The best dialogue tags are the simple he said and she said (or asked), or with the name: John said, Carol said. These simple dialogue tags don’t draw attention to themselves or interrupt the story line, as they’re almost invisible. Avoid fancy tags like queried, chortled, alleged, proclaimed, conjectured, affirmed, etc., which can be distracting. But I do suggest using verbs that accurately and quickly describe how the words are delivered, like whispered, shouted, yelled, screamed, or stammered.

3. You can’t use words like laughed or grinned or smiled or grimaced or scowled as dialogue tags.

These are both incorrect:

“You look great,” he grinned.
“Why, thank you,” she smiled.

Why don’t they work? Because smiling is not talking; you can’t “smile” or “grin” words.
Change to:

“You look great,” he said, grinning.
“Why, thank you.” She smiled at the compliment. (Note period and capital “She”)
Or “Why, thank you,” she said, then smiled at him.

4. Use adverbs very sparingly.

Avoid:
“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically.
“Come here,” he said imperiously.
“I’m in charge,” she said haughtily.

Instead, make sure the words they’re saying and any actions convey the feelings you wish to express.

5. Off-topic, but do not put quotation marks around thoughts. That’s a topic for another post.

 TWO CURRENT STYLE TRENDS (Jodie’s observations):

  1. Contemporary North American fiction seems to avoid the reversed form, “said Carol”, in favor of “Carol said.” The reversed form seems to be more British and also considered kind of archaic, which makes it great for historical fiction.
  2. Most contemporary North American fiction writers, with the notable exception of Lee Child, seem to put most dialogue tags after the words spoken:

“Let’s go,” Tony said.

Rather than before:

Tony said, “Let’s go.”

These last two points are of course just my observations of common usage, not rules. But aspiring or debut authors would do well to stick with what seems to be in favor, to give a contemporary feel to your novel. Of course, if you’re writing historical fiction, go for the older “said Elizabeth” form.

Jodie Renner—June 19, 2014

Here’s a little exercise I teach in my workshops: take one of your dialogue-heavy scenes. Go to the middle and select a line at random. Now, pull down a random novel from your shelf. Open to a random page. Flip around until you find some dialogue. Pick one line of that dialogue.

NOW: substitute the line you just read for the line you selected in your scene. THEN: figure out how to justify it!

NEXT: Tweak the line so it fits the character. FINALLY: Rewrite the rest of the scene. Do this as a way to create or explore deeper levels of story or character. You may end up not using the dialogue line itself, but you will have opened up new vistas in your story and given your imagination a chance to play.

But if you do use the line, here is a big benefit: It creates a surprise for the reader. And surprise is the greatest page-turning prompt of all. Predictability is dull. So throw the reader off every now and then with something out of the blue.

Another benefit: you can use this exercise whenever you hit bad old writer’s block. Don’t know where your story is going? Having trouble plotting the next few scenes? Not sure who a character is? Try this exercise and get the mental pistons firing again.

Here’s a clip from my current WIP:

“Isn’t the view gorgeous?” she said.

“You better get right to it,” Dylan said, “because this is the last time we meet.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I’m prepared to walk away.”

“I don’t think so, dear.”

“Watch me.”

“You haven’t even seen what I have.”

“I don’t care—”

“Or heard.”

“Heard?”

“So many things. You can be happy. We can be happy.”

“Look, you’re sick and you need help.”

“Don’t—”

“I know people. I can get you help.”

Now I perform the exercise. I’ll show you what I came up with using four very different novels off my shelf.

Using a line from An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser (1925):

“Or heard.”

“Heard?”

“So many things. You can be happy. We can be happy.”

“Look, you’re sick and you need help.”

“Oh, it doesn’t amount to anything, really. We just quarrel, that’s all, once in awhile.”

From The Gods Themselves by Isaac Asimov (1972):

“Or heard.”

“Heard?”

“So many things. You can be happy. We can be happy.”

“Look, you’re sick and you need help.”

“Sexually?”

From The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett (1929):

“Or heard.”

“Heard?”

“So many things. You can be happy. We can be happy.”

“Look, you’re sick and you need help.”

“Yeah, she had it tucked under her arm when she paid me.”

From L.A. Requiem by Robert Crais (1999):

“Or heard.”

“Heard?”

“So many things. You can be happy. We can be happy.”

“Look, you’re sick and you need help.”

“Well, we’re going to find out, but right now we’ve got a maniac to get off the street.”

Well now! Each one of these lines takes us in a different direction, doesn’t it?

The first one gets me thinking along the lines of Psycho, and multiple personalities.

The second one gives me a whole new aspect of character.

The third one is so obscure I have to do some more cogitating. I try to figure out why this woman would have been paid, and by whom. That’s a whole new plot point! That she could be working with someone. So I spend a few minutes jotting down ideas about that. Also, what did this mystery woman have tucked under her arm?

Since I’m writing a thriller, the last example really got my imagination scrambling. Which is, of course, the point of this exercise.

If I decide to use one of these lines, I’ll tweak it to make it consistent with the character’s voice.

But, after all this, I may just go back to the way I had it before. But wouldn’t that be wasted effort? Far from it! Because the writer’s mind is always stronger after this kind of workout—lithe, supple, and ready for action … hmm, maybe I should write a romance.

But not now, because I’m in the middle of my WIP and I’ve got a maniac to get off the street.

James Scott Bell—May 21, 2017

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  1. What do you think of Elaine’s advice on making dialogue realistic? Any additions to her tips?
  2. How do you handle dialogue tags?
  3. What do you think of Jim’s random dialogue exercise? Is this something you’ll try? (I certainly will.)
  4. Any general advice on making dialogue more effective and engaging?

Tips for Loosening up Your Writing

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by Jodie Renner, editor, author, presenter

As a freelance editor, I receive fiction manuscripts from lots of professionals, and for many of these clients, whose report-writing skills are well-researched, accurate and precise, my editing often focuses on helping them relax their overly correct writing style.

Writing fiction that sizzles is a world away from nonfiction writing, especially scholarly, professional, or technical copy. In fact, people who have had a lot of experience writing academic, professional, legal, or business documents often have the steepest learning curve when it comes to switching to fiction. Professionals typically have the most “bad” (correct but inappropriate for fiction) habits to unlearn when they’re trying to create a believable story world with a casual, even quirky voice; lively, fast-paced writing; and colorful characters from various walks of life.

Here are some concrete tips for relaxing your writing style, trimming the clutter, and finding an authentic, appealing voice for your story, whether you’re a professional or not. Most of this advice also applies to writing engaging, zippy, natural-sounding blog posts.

~ To loosen up, read lots of popular fiction – and blog posts.

An excellent first step to counteract stiff, overly correct, nonfiction-type writing habits is to read a lot of bestselling fiction in the genre you want to write. Even better, try reading the novels aloud, or buy the audio books and listen to them in your car, on walks, or while puttering around the house or garage. You’ll soon get into the rhythm of the writing and start to develop your own natural, compelling fiction voice.

~ Relax and pare down any overly correct, convoluted sentences.

Remember, it’s about communicating images and concepts and carrying your reader along with the story. Don’t muddle your message with a lot of extra words that just clutter up the sentence and hamper the free flow of ideas.

Here are some well-disguised examples from my fiction editing of trimming excess words:

Before:
“Bastards. Why am I always the last to know?” Pivoting, the detective walked in the direction of the station’s front desk with a purposeful, nearly aggressive, gait. He shoved himself bodily through the swinging door and locked eye contact with the uniformed officer on reception duty.

Notice how the ideas flow better in the revised version:

After:
“Bastards. Why am I always the last to know?” Pivoting, the detective marched toward the front desk. He slammed through the swinging door and glared at the officer on reception duty.

Before:
Nathan paused a moment before replying as he slowed the car in preparation for a right-hand turn onto a smaller road, resuming the conversation as the car again picked up speed.

After:
Nathan paused as he slowed the car to turn right onto a smaller road, then continued as the car picked up speed.

~ Don’t drown your readers in details.

Too much unnecessary detail complicates the issue and impedes the flow of ideas.
Leave out those picky little details that just serve to distract the reader, who wonders for an instant why they’re there and if they’re significant:

Before:
He had arrived at the vending machine and was punching the buttons on its front with an outstretched index finger when a voice from behind him broke him away from his thoughts.

After:
He was punching the buttons on the vending machine when a voice behind him broke into his thoughts.

In the first example, we have way too much minute detail. What else would he be punching the buttons with besides his finger? And we don’t need to know which finger or that it’s outstretched. Everybody does it pretty much the same. Avoid having minute details like this that just clutter up your prose.

Before:
The officer was indicating with a hand gesture a door that was behind and off to the right of Wilson. An angular snarl stuck to his face, he swung his head around to look in the direction the officer was pointing.

After:
The officer gestured to a door behind Wilson. Snarling, he turned to look behind him.

Before:
Jason motioned to a particular number in the middle of the spreadsheet that Tom currently had on the computer screen.

After:
Jason motioned to a number in the middle of the spreadsheet on the screen.

Or:
Jason pointed to a number in the middle of the spreadsheet.

Or even better:
Jason pointed to a number on the spreadsheet.

~ Condense long-winded dialogue and make sure it reflects the speaker’s personality and background.

People rarely speak in complete, grammatically correct sentences, especially when they’re in a casual situation, in a hurry, or angry, upset or scared. Overly correct dialogue just doesn’t sound natural. Unless you’ve got two professors or other professionals speaking to each other in the workplace, don’t have your characters speaking in long sentences in lengthy paragraphs.

In tense or rushed action scenes especially, go for incomplete sentences and one or two-word questions and answers. Read your dialogue aloud or even role-play with a friend to hear where you can cut words to make it sound more realistic.

Before:
The homicide detective looked at the CSI, who was on his way out. “Leaving already?”
“This wasn’t the crime scene. Not much for me to find. You would do me a huge favor by making sure that the next time we had a murder I had an actual crime scene to investigate.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After:
The homicide detective looked at the CSI, who was on his way out. “Leaving already?”
“This wasn’t the crime scene. Not much for me to find. Next time can you get me an actual crime scene to investigate?”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before:
“C’mon, I don’t believe that. Lance knew you’d tell the cops about the connection. He just wanted the excuse in place because he knew Perkins might not be leaving.”

After:
“C’mon, I don’t believe that. Lance knew you’d tell the cops about the connection. He just wanted an excuse in case Perkins didn’t leave.”

Before:
Craig flipped a page in his notebook. “Do you keep records in your system that specify which of your inmates have had access to this room?”

After:
Craig flipped a page in his notebook. “Do you keep records of patients who’ve had access to this room?”

So be sure to read or listen to lots of fiction, and read your story out loud to see if it sounds natural, like people in those situations would actually talk and think. And delete all those extra little words that are cluttering up your prose, to create a smooth, natural flow of ideas.

For more on this topic, see my blog post, “Making the switch from Nonfiction to Fiction Writing,” on Joanna Penn’s award-winning blog.

Jodie Renner is a freelance fiction editor and the award-winning author of three craft-Captivate_full_w_decalof-writing guides in her series An Editor’s Guide to Writing Compelling Fiction: Captivate Your Readers, Fire up Your Fiction, and Writing a Killer Thriller. She has also published two clickable time-saving e-resources to date: Quick Clicks: Spelling List and Quick Clicks: Word Usage. You can find Jodie at www.JodieRenner.com, www.JodieRennerEditing.com, her blog, http://jodierennerediting.blogspot.com/, and on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+.